


His Punishment

by SeeThemFlying



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Book Canon(ish), Echoes of The Omen, F/M, It gets a little dark, demon child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 11:28:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20208994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeThemFlying/pseuds/SeeThemFlying
Summary: Jaime Lannister always thought he would be punished for his sins, he just did not know what form it would take...





	His Punishment

**Author's Note:**

> Just a crazy little one shot I've had brewing for ages. I hope you enjoy - comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated.
> 
> It mostly follows book canon, and therefore I've been deliberately vague about what I think happens after aDwD. Hints of the show may be seen there!

Jaime had always felt he deserved to be punished; punished because he had loved his sister in the wrong way, punished for pushing Bran Stark from a window, punished for standing by while Aerys had raped and pillaged and burned, punished for his cruel and arrogant attitude, punished for the way he had mocked his lady knight when they first met, punished for waiting so long to tell Tyrion the truth about Tysha, punished for leaving his sister to die and refusing to defend her at her trial, punished for not claiming Brienne of Tarth as his own sooner.

And yet, he wasn’t punished, but rewarded.

He had whispered the words “I love you” in her ear after their fight with Lady Stoneheart and carried her bruised and broken body to the Quiet Isle. There, in order that she could get the treatment she needed, they had become man and wife. He sat at her bedside every day, telling her stories and keeping her spirits up. Lady Lannister had permitted him to hold her hand, and he felt as if all the stars had just fallen from the heavens and into his heart.

When she had recovered, she got out of bed and put on her armour.

“Don’t think I mean to hold you to your vow, Ser Jaime,” she said, not quite looking him in the eye. “I know you did it to save my life and now, I live. I consider it fulfilled.”

That made him sad. “I don’t remember promising that when we made our vows,” he said gently. “I remember declaring that I am yours and you are mine.”

She had blushed very beautifully then, almost obscuring her freckles. “But you didn’t mean it,” she stated, as if it were a fact.

“I _do _mean it,” he declared. “I love you.”

It had taken months of saying it to persuade her, even as he followed her around in her endless quest to find Lady Sansa. It was only when he was injured in freeing Sansa from Petyr Baelish’s clutches in the Vale that Brienne finally believed him, as he had demanded he wanted to die in the arms of the woman he loved, and that meant _her _arms and no other.

“You will not die, you selfish bastard,” she had snapped at him.

“Why?” he had said, “what does it matter to you?”

“Because I love you too,” she had sobbed.

He had kissed her, promised he would live for her, and then he had kept his vow. Alongside his lady knight and Podrick Payne, he had escorted the Sansa Stark back to the newly claimed Winterfell. Ser Davos Seaworth had found a young Rickon on Skagos and the Northern Lords had proclaimed him King in the North after both Ramsay Bolton and Stannis Baratheon were broken in turn. For a moment, the world seemed to shine with opportunity, especially after Lady Sansa had granted Jaime and Brienne a room of their own, with a fire, a table, a rug, a bed, and a lock. The first night they slept in there, Jaime had truly made Brienne his wife.

Then, suddenly, it seemed everyone was converging on the North as the Long Night came; Jon Snow and the Watch, Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons, Brandon Stark and his strange otherworldliness. The Knights of the Vale, the Dothraki, the Unsullied, and the Northmen rallied under the banners of humanity, and Jaime found himself one of them. Not a Lannister, not the Kingslayer, just one of the living. Just Jaime.

He had expected that the end of the world would be one long slog of misery, but surprisingly, it was one of the happiest times of his life. During the siege of Winterfell, he found himself holed up with the living in the castle, fighting the swarms of the dead who hurled themselves at the walls. Every day, he was by Brienne’s side with their twin swords, she his right hand, saving his life more times than he could count. At night, they would huddle together under furs on their bed, whispering sweet words of consolation, kissing each other’s bruises, wiping away each other’s tears. Sometimes the only comfort that they could show each other was his body pressed against hers, his face between her thighs, her hand on his cock, him buried inside her moaning her name in her ear. Knowing what the world was like, he always made sure to come on her belly, her thighs, her hand, her tits.

“Afterwards,” she would say, stroking his hair. “Afterwards you can put a child in me, and we can be a family.”

“We already are a family,” he would insist, holding her close. Even though what he said was true, he wanted nothing more than to be the father of her children and a chance to raise them with her, but he expected he would be punished before that would ever happen. The selfish part of him hoped it would be _he _that died in the War for the Dawn, if only so he did not have to watch her be extinguished. It would have been too much.

To both their surprise, however, they got the chance. The dead were pushed back, dawn rose, and a new beginning commenced. In the following chaos, Daenerys and her dragons were brought down in a ball of fire and flame, and her death left Jon Snow shattered and reduced. Tyrion had remade the world with King Brandon the Broken, and a new order proclaimed. Nobody bothered those who sought no power so Jaime, to his immense relief, was left alone.

“Tarth, my love?” Brienne had asked.

They returned to the island just in time for Brienne to see her father before he passed; with his last breath he gave his daughter his blessing for her marriage. Jaime did not know what he had done to be so lucky – not only was Brienne his wife before the world, he had found acceptance on a small island in the Narrow Sea. It did nothing to lessen the sadness of Lord Selwyn’s death, however, and Jaime did all he could to console his young wife, the new Evenstar. This mostly involved taking the weight of managing the day to day logistics from her shoulders, until she felt more able to cope with it. Sometimes it meant bringing her flowers he found while out walking on the island, or making sure the cooks made her favourite meals, or getting a bottle of Arbor Gold for them to share by the fire. It also involved taking her to bed and making her wet, by kissing her breasts, her lips, and her cunt until she cried out his name, letting her have him any way she wanted. During those first few months on Tarth, he had learnt that she preferred to ride rather than be ridden, and the first time he came inside her she was holding him down with a determined look in her eye.

“Next time I have a mind to tie you up,” she had teased as he held her in his arms.

“For old times sakes?” he asked, “why not have me in a bath too, wench?”

Three moons later, when they were trying to calculate which night exactly Jaime had put a child in Brienne’s belly, they deduced it must have been the time in the glade just north of Evenfall Hall, when they had taken a picnic out in order to watch the sunset, and he had finished inside her while they laid on the soft blanket she had brought with them. Jaime had never had a greater pleasure than the next six months, watching as Brienne bloomed and ballooned with their child.

“Galladon for a boy,” she said, “Joanna for a girl.”

“Alright, my love,” Jaime had agreed as they laid in bed together, when she was so heavy with child she could barely walk and he could not deny her anything. “Now open your legs, I have mind to pleasure you with my tongue.”

It was at this point, when he did not believe it possible to be this happy that, finally, his punishment came. The midwives told him that his lady wife had given birth to a little girl but that… oh… they didn’t know how to tell him… his wife had lost too much blood and they weren’t sure… they didn’t know if… Jaime had bundled into the birthing room then, to find his Brienne in her bed of blood. Sweat had made her blonde hair stick to her forehead, and the fire was blazing in the grate, but even so, she was shivering with the cold.

Gods, there was so much blood.

Not caring for his expensive jerkin or newly tailored breeches, he lifted her up into a sitting position so he could tuck in behind her, wrapping his whole body around her to keep her warm. She felt icy to touch.

“Jaime…” she had whispered, as he rubbed furiously at her arms with his bare hand, trying to inspire a little warmth. “What are you doing?”

“Warming you up,” he insisted, pressing his thighs around hers. “You look cold.”

“Jaime…”

“The servants are bringing you hot soup and mulled wine, and I’m going to stay right here until you are better, just like on the Quiet Isle, my love.”

“No,” she said, tears in her eyes, “I won’t get better.”

“You will, my love, you will,” he insisted, wrapping his arms around her shoulders as if to lock her into his heat. “You have survived everything ever thrown at you; the Bloody Mummers, Lady Catelyn’s wraith, and the Long Night. You once told me to live, so I’m telling you the same now. Live, Brienne, because I love you so much and I can’t exist in a world without you.”

“I’ll try,” she had said, “I promise.”

It was the only promise to him she had not been able to keep. Brienne of Tarth left the world while he sang songs and told her stories and whispered that he loved her. Even as she grew paler and paler and the maesters and midwives fretted around her, he had clung onto some mad hope.

“Jaime,” she had said, her voice so weak he could barely hear her.

“Yes, wench?”

“Love her,” she said, “don’t push her away because I died.”

“You will not die,” he had insisted relentlessly, trying to hide the fact that he was not able to make that promise.

When Brienne went cold and stopped talking, Jaime screamed for the maesters and the midwives, for someone, _anyone, _to do something, to save his wife, to save his life and love. “There’s nothing to be done, m’lord,” said the oldest midwife, her face ravaged by pain and time. “The Evenstar has set. Her daughter must now take her place.”

Brienne of Tarth was buried on the island whose name she bore, but Jaime did not attend the funeral. He stayed locked in their room, resting Oathkeeper on his lap, wondering whether he could slit his own throat with it. The midwives asked him if he wanted to hold his child, but he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, he refused to even look at her. Eventually, the servants grew so desperate they duly sent for his brother and he arrived three moons after Brienne had died. Tyrion reminded Jaime of his duty to his daughter, as well as promises made to her mother.

“There is no use pushing the girl away,” said Tyrion gently, “or one day she may put a bolt through your belly while you are doing a shit.”

For the first time in months, that raised a half smile on Jaime’s face, and Tyrion eventually managed to coax him downstairs for some wine in the hall.

* * *

Jaime named their daughter Brienne, not wanting her mother forgotten, but as the years passed, he came to understand that it was a false name. Brienne of Tarth had been tall and strong, with beautiful cerulean eyes that the whole world had missed. In contrast, Jaime had cried the day he noticed his baby daughter’s eyes had changed from her mother’s blue to his green.

Brienne of Tarth had been a warrior, a protector, unafraid of anything. Little Brienne, her daughter, showed no interest in swords or knights, and instead preferred fine dresses and embroidery, and dancing at balls that Jaime was forced to organise to keep the islanders happy. Perhaps that was why he left her to the nurses and maids; he cared for her, but it pained him to his core that when he looked at his daughter. He didn’t see Brienne but himself, and by extension _her._

So, for seven years he threw himself into keeping Tarth safe. The people were initially distrustful, but when he devoted a winter to stopping them starving, built a hospital in the grounds of Evenfall Hall in his wife’s memory to keep them well, and founded a school so their children could learn to read and write, they eventually forgot he had once been Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer. He just became Lord Jaime, Brienne of Tarth’s widower, the father of Little Brienne, the new Evenstar.

It was a title he treasured and abhorred at the same time.

As he devoted himself to Tarth, he did not have much time for his daughter, who he left to run wild around Evenfall Hall. It did not matter much until she reached her seventh nameday, when she suddenly became one of the most important people in the Seven Kingdoms. It had been agreed many years earlier that Tyrion would inherit the Rock, and Jaime would fade away in provincial obscurity with Brienne. However, Tyrion’s wife had always been of frail health and had never given him children, and then a summer fever had taken Tyrion Lannister years earlier than intended.

So, seven years after losing his wife, Jaime had been forced to leave Tarth, the home he had come to love, to take his daughter on the long trek across the continent to Casterly Rock. As Tarth disappeared on the horizon, he had been forced to bite back tears. In leaving her island, he was leaving her.

On arrival at the Rock, his new Maester, Jonell, had some advice for him. “It may be prudent to marry again, my lord,” he said one day as they were discussing Lannisport’s import tariffs. “Maybe your cousin, Joy Hill? Or what about Talla Tarly? I hear she is a pretty wench.”

_Wench. _That word felt like a punch in the gut, especially when Jonell said it so flippantly.

“I don’t want to marry again,” Jaime had said emphatically.

The Maester winced. “But my lord, Casterly Rock needs an heir… the people of the Westerlands…”

“They have my daughter, _Brienne’s _daughter,” Jaime had insisted. “Any daughter of my wife will be a thousand times more suitable than some other woman’s son.”

The Maester nodded gently, “of course, my lord. Lady Brienne is a high spirited young girl, full of… erm… womanly virtue. Yet, even so, isn’t it in House Lannister’s best interests if…?”

“I don’t care what is in House Lannister’s best interests. I care that my wife is remembered and respected in this castle. Yes, she may have never lived here as the Lady of Casterly Rock, but she was… is… my lady, and no one can take her place.”

The Maester had tried to raise the issue with him again several times over the years, but Jaime always rebuffed him. Once, he had even been tricked into having Talla Tarly visit the Rock for a feast, and she was paraded around in front of him, laughing at his jokes, drinking his wine, flirting with him from behind a demure expression, but he just wasn’t interested.

While his guests danced into the morning hours, Jaime went to the sept where he had had a statue of his lady wife installed. On leaving Tarth, he had been forced to leave her body there, so this was the only small piece of her he had.

“Wench,” he said, sitting down next to her. “I won’t do it, you know. I won’t remarry.”

_I know, _she said from somewhere else, _you were never one to do the sensible thing._

“It’s not the sensible thing, it’s the dishonourable thing. I won’t let the world forget you, I will not.”

Secretly, he had paid some singers to write songs of the Fair Maid of Tarth and her exploits, and they were now being sung in taverns and inns all up and down the Gold Road. Jaime hoped that in time, Brienne would become as ubiquitous as Jenny of Oldstones, or Brave Danny Flint, or the Dornishman’s Wife. He was quite determined that she would outlive them all on the tongues and lyres of the common folk.

On another day, there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” he said. Lady Brienne Lannister was not so little anymore. She was now sixteen and known as one of the fairest young women in the Seven Kingdoms, with her Lannister gold hair and her Lannister green eyes. Jaime was sure that his Brienne was laughing at that, somewhere.

“My lord father,” she said, dropping into a deep curtsey. “May I sit with you?” Even though he was going over the accounts (which he could barely keep track of at the best of times), he waved a hand indicating that she could. Keeping her eyes in her hands, she sat down.

“What do you want?” he asked, still eyeing the numbers.

Little Brienne’s words came out in a torrent. “Some boys were laughing in the training yard; they said my lady mother was not a beauty as all the songs claim. They said the songs were lies written by you.”

“Give me their names,” he said harshly, “and I’ll have them skinned.”

Little Brienne shook her head. “I don’t want them skinned. I want you to tell me the truth; what was my mother like? You’ve never told me… we’ve never talked about her… they said she was known as the Kingslayer’s Whore.”

He finally looked up from his accounts. Jaime had not made the promise to Brienne when she was on her deathbed that he would love their daughter. He was glad, because he would have found it impossible to keep. Little Brienne had nothing of the Maid of Tarth in her and was entirely Lannister, from her hair to her character, and when Jaime looked at her, he saw no one but his long dead twin sister.

_Maybe that was my punishment, _he thought.

“Your mother was the best woman in the world, you will not demean her by calling her _that _in my presence. My sins could never besmirch her.” Little Brienne nodded her head, and Jaime could tell she was hiding a question. Narrowing his eyes, he said, “why do you ask?”

“Because she was an honourable woman with songs sung about her, even though she laid with you before you were wed, wasn’t she?”

Jaime stiffened. He always felt his marriage bed was for him and Brienne alone, and did not like bringing it up with his daughter. Even so, he said, “your mother had more honour than any other person I have ever met, before and after I took her to bed. Why is this worrying you?”

It took him looking directly into his eyes for her to break down and tell of all the trouble she had gotten herself into. At the harvest dance she had met Jon Brax, the youngest son of one of Jaime’s bannermen, and they had started a love affair. He would write her sweet letters and beg her to marry him, and when he came to Casterly Rock they would sneak away and lie together. Little Brienne thought she would be safe, if only because of the Moon Tea Maester Jonell gave her for her painful periods, but it had not worked and now she was with child and she didn’t know what to do.

“Jon Brax is unmarried, isn’t he?” asked Jaime, trying to remember. “Why don’t you marry him? The boy says he loves you, after all.” He wanted his daughter to be happy, even if he sometimes struggled to look at her, and he did not care if she did not marry some great lord. To his surprise, Little Brienne looked horrified at his suggestion.

“Jon Brax is a third son with no prospects,” she spat, “barely good enough to be a hedge knight. He has a pretty face, but he has no brain behind it, so I will not have him as my husband.”

Consequently, Brienne’s first grandchild was born in secret, after Little Brienne had gone into seclusion for six months, complete with stories that she was ill. To save his daughter the ignominy, Jaime claimed the boy was his son with a serving girl. He called him Galladon, the name Brienne had once wanted to give to a son they had. It felt right.

If Jaime had found it hard to love Little Brienne, with Galladon it was easy, perhaps only because of some quirk of nature which caused him to inherit Brienne’s eyes. For the first time in years, Jaime found something to live for, and lavished attention on the little boy. He prepared for the day when he could teach him to fight with a sword and got him a little suit of armour made. His interest in his grandson was so obvious that it eventually caused Maester Jonell to quietly suggest to Jaime that he marry one of the serving girls, claim her as the boy’s mother, and proclaim Galladon his heir. Jaime had laughed at this idea initially but found himself considering it after Jonell had died suddenly after drinking a glass of wine poured by Little Brienne.

He told himself he was being paranoid and shook it off.

When Little Brienne was eighteen, Lord Rickon Stark came to Casterly Rock with his wife, the former Lady Lyanna Mormont. Jaime would never have suspected a time would come when House Lannister would be forgiven so entirely that the Lord Paramount of the North would come for a personal visit, but that day had arrived. Rickon was full of grand plans for improving the economy of the North, and this involved working with the Southern Lords to make transportation easier. Jaime and Rickon spent all night discussing possible new port towns that could be built versus alternative new roads. There was so much vim and vigour about him that Rickon Stark reminded Jaime of the Young Wolf, the boy king who had taken him prisoner years ago at the Battle of Whispering Wood.

Little Brienne spent the evening with Lady Lyanna, giving her a tour of the castle and inquiring why she and her husband were waiting to have children. When Jaime and Rickon returned to meet their womenfolk in the Great Hall, Jaime could see that Lyanna was cross with Little Brienne, so made moves to ensure they were separated at dinner.

The next morning, Lady Lyanna awoke with terrible stomach pains, and by the evening she was dead. A terrible fear clutched at Jaime’s belly. The War of the Five Kings had been started by him pushing a young Stark boy out of a window, and he would not have animosity between Stark and Lannister ripping the realm in two once more.

“I assure you Lord Rickon,” Jaime had said, “if you wife’s death had an unnatural cause, I will do my utmost to discover the truth.”

He made sure Lady Lyanna was embalmed exquisitely, with all the perfumes and fragrances his gold could buy, before giving her body to Rickon for burial. “Thank you, Lord Jaime,” the Stark lord had replied. “Our families may not have always been friends, but times have changed, and I know you will do your utmost to see that justice is done.”

Lord Rickon did not stay at Casterly Rock but went to Lannisport where he rented a fine house, claiming travelling north was too much in his grief. Jaime could understand the feeling. With Lord Rickon so near, Jaime threw himself into action immediately and had spies set amongst the servants, chasing the whispers to discover who had poured Lady Stark’s wine. All roads eventually led back to one person: Jon Brax. The pretty young man was brought to Jaime’s study, shaking with nerves before he had even said anything.

“Jon,” Jaime had said carefully. “Did you pour poison into Lady Stark’s wine?”

“No… no… my lord.”

“I have significant evidence to suggest you did, so, if I were you, I would tell me why you did it.”

When Jon gave him the answer he had suspected and feared, Jaime dismissed him and sent for his daughter. She was armed with nothing but smiles and her jewellery and, as she sat down on the chair the other side of his desk, she looked the picture of innocence.

“Jon Brax told me you promised to marry him if he put poison in Lady Stark’s wine.”

She blinked back at him with her big green eyes – his eyes, _her _eyes – as if she had never heard something so ridiculous. “I did no such thing, father.”

“Really?” he said, sceptically. “Because I don’t believe you for a moment.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” she replied. “You have always despised and distrusted me. Why would that change now?”

That was like a slap across the face. It was true he did not love her the way a father was meant to, but he still cared for her, did not want to see her hurt. “I do not _despise _you,” he insisted, “but you are correct in that I do not trust you, not after Maester Jonell.” When she only replied with a stony expression, he offered her a glass of wine, poured by himself (of course).

After she agreed, he filled up two glasses, one for himself and one for her, and they took a sip together. “Do you think me a murderer?” she asked. “It’s not surprising. You have thought me a killer from the day I was born.”

It was a shameful secret he kept, but her accusation was true. He was as weak and base as his own father had been, blaming his child for taking her mother away. “I believe you killed Lady Stark, yet I cannot work out why.”

Thinking, he got to his feet and crossed the small study to look out the window. There was a beautiful view of the Sunset Sea from here, although it could never beat the one of the Narrow Sea from up on the hills of Tarth. “She did nothing to hurt you. You only knew her a few days. Unless…” He went back to the desk and took a sip of his wine, suddenly wanting to moisten his dry throat. “You said Jon Brax was not suitable to be your husband as he was only the third son of one of my bannermen. But what about a Lord Paramount whose brother is the childless King of the Seven Kingdoms?”

A smile crossed Little Brienne’s face. “My aunt was once the Queen Regent, my brothers and sister kings and queens in their time.” When his mouth dropped open, Little Brienne laughed. “Did you think I did not know? The children I grew up with have been calling you Sister Fucker for as long as I can remember.”

Jaime coughed; his breath caught in his throat. “But…”

Ignoring his objections, Little Brienne continued. “And with such noble ancestry, who better to be my husband that the wifeless, childless, handsome Rickon Stark?”

Jaime tried to say something, but he coughed again. Reaching up for his collar, he tried to loosen it somewhat, hoping it would help. It was only then that he noticed Little Brienne’s smile was getting bigger and bigger.

“Do you want me to admit it? Yes. I killed Maester Jonell, because he had some mad scheme to replace me as your heir with that damned son of mine. I used nightshade with him, so he couldn’t talk.” Jaime got to his feet in an attempt to show his rage, because he could no longer speak. “With Lady Stark, I used Manticore Venom, because she was such a haughty bitch, I wanted to make her suffer.”

Little Brienne finally got to her feet, picking her glass of wine up as she did so. She took a long draft, and Jaime was suddenly back in King’s Landing acting as his sister’s whipping boy, watching her drink and plot and grow angrier and angrier. Little Brienne just continued to smile at him. “I saved the most exquisitely painful for _you, _father,” she beamed. “They say the Strangler killed my brother Joffrey, so I thought it would suit for you too.”

In a moment, Jaime was on his knees, clutching at his throat, gasping for air. Although he could not see himself, he was sure he was turning purple. Little Brienne picked up his glass of wine and poured it on the floor; it suddenly dawned on him she must have slipped the poison in while he was looking out of the window at the sea.

“Why?” he managed to choke as he rolled over to face her.

She shrugged. “With you gone, I am the Lady Paramount of the Westerlands, and Rickon Stark is nice and close in Lannisport. I can have him seduced by the end of the week. And why not kill a man who has always hated me?”

Everything was going dark and places and faces were flashing before his eyes. He tried to grab hold of them, tried to find his beloved amongst the sea of faces, but instead, he could only see his brother Tyrion shooting a bolt into their father’s guts. The absolute last sight he saw was his daughter leaning over him, a wicked grin on her face.

“I named you false,” he whispered.

She just laughed.

If he had been able to think straight, he would have cursed himself that the last word that came to his mind was not the one of his beloved, but a name he had long since banished to the corners of his mind.

_Cersei…_

His punishment had finally come.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed that twisted little one shot! Please leave comments and kudos :D


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